That things are rarely as we expect

I recently read a memoir by Rebecca Mead, a lady who is just a little older than I am. She studied English at University in the mid 80s because she loved books, but quickly found that being a book lover didn't really have much to do with it, because the course was nothing like she expected.

'The mid eighties was the era of critical thinking,' she wrote. 'Scholars were encouraged to apply tools of psychoanalysis or feminism to reveal ways the author was blind to his or her own desire or prejudice. Books weren't supposed to be merely read, but interrogated as if they had committed some malfeasance.'

Yes! That brought back clear memories of my late teens. How I used to hate that! Mead might have been describing my experience in the late 1980s. There were no tertiary creative writing courses back then, so I chose English as my major, expecting to get guidance and valuable tips on how to write the novels I intended to write. Instead, it was just as Mead described. I often used to complain, 'Hey, I didn't sign up for this so that I can criticise Charles Dickens and the Brontes, and highlight their perceived failings and limitations. I like Dickens and the Brontes. They're better authors than I am. If I'd known it was going to be like this, I might have chosen something different.' But as it was, I went in like a lamb to the slaughter.

That became my standard complaint all through Uni. Straight out of High School, I'd chosen a list of subjects I thought would suit me to the ground. English, Pyschology, Anthropology and Philosophy. But instead of just looking at people's motivations and attitudes, Psychology was full of more Maths, Chemistry and detailed brain structure illustrations than I cared to dive into.  And rather than just studying different cultures, Anthropology delved into symbolism and all sorts of deep linguistic studies I hadn't expected. As for Philosophy, I thought it was off this planet! What I remember most is that all of the male staff seemed to wear long, bushy beards as apparent status symbols, and the female members had long, long hair to compensate.

My best memories of those Uni years was sitting in the basement of the Barr Smith library, tracking down and devouring ancient, out-of-print novels. They were totally unrelated to the course material I was studying, and I used to put off what I was really supposed to be doing for as long as possible.

I don't think this discovery that things are not what we expect was limited to the late 80s. This year, my older son started his degree at Adelaide Uni, (which makes me feel very proud but quite old.) I'm finding out that the place has changed a lot in several ways since I was there, but in other ways, it's much the same. Some courses still turn out to be nothing like what they sound like.

This semester, Logan has had to tackle a compulsory subject called, 'The Enquiring Mind.' On the surface, the name sounds quite alluring and intriguing, but some of his friends who had tackled it in first semester warned him that it was full of 'arty farty stuff' as they call it. Even the lecturers must have known that word of its true nature had spread. When Logan showed up in the crammed theatre, with students spilling out into the aisles, the lecturer introduced the topic by saying, 'I know many of you are here under sufferance, but I hope you'll overcome any prejudice you may have at the start and get something out of this course anyway.'

And has he? Well, after a couple of weeks I asked, 'What's it all about?'

'I still can't figure it out,' he said. 'Nobody can.'

I read the first few paragraphs of his introductory handout and knew what he meant. It seems to be one of the subjects which are designed just to be a pain in every way. For example, when Logan went to purchase the text book from the faculty office, he was told, 'No, we can't take your money. You have to buy it online and bring the receipt in to show us before we give you one.' And the shelves behind them were piled high with this text book which nobody really wants.

But when you think about it, this quality of not entirely living up to rosy expectations isn't limited to tertiary institutions alone. In fact, maybe it's a feature of life in general. When we decide to get married, we have wonderful images of a 'happily ever after' scenario without the 'barefoot and pregnant at the sink washing dishes' one which is almost as well known a catch-cry. When we decide to have babies, we daydream about their cute, sleeping faces without dwelling on the screaming, colicky fits and stinky nappies which are also part of the story. Maybe the study experiences which don't quite live up to expectations are just like almost everything else. When we dwell on the flip side, we realise there have been quite a lot of good aspects too. In fact, sometimes expectations are turned on their heads the other way, and we are pleasantly surprised by good things we hadn't expected.

This happened to me years ago when I was doing Year 12. I was told that my timetable was too heavy with humanities subjects and I had to drop one to replace with a Science subject. That made me grumble, but I picked Biology, and it turned out to be one of the most enjoyable, easy to pass subjects that year. More so than Drama, which I'd expected to be my favourite subject but turned out to be a terrible drag. If asked, I could rattle off the titles of many novels I've started reading with low expectations and discovered they were brilliant. As for Logan's experience this year, he admitted that although 'The Enquiring Mind' is full of arty nonsense, it does have it's lighter moments, which turn out to be the fun his discussion table have with their jokes at the tutor's expense, while he thinks they're really getting right into it.

that we tend to edit our public persona

Authors don't tend to talk about all the rigorous editing that goes into each of our books. I'm always happy with the final product when editors and publishers agree, 'That's good enough.' I throw those ratty old dog-eared, scribbled over, crossed-out, commented on early drafts away. People aren't ever supposed to know about the paragraphs which got deleted because they are redundant, or the extra pages added to supply what the story was initially lacking. They don't realise that the first chapter may have been written later, and what I used to call the start is now found almost a quarter through Chapter Three. Nor do they know that a scene of dialogue has been so changed, that none of the characters say any of the things they originally said, yet it comes across more spontaneous and off-the-cuff than ever. I never mention all the Word documents I've deleted with names such as More track changes for Best Forgotten, Imogen's Chance fifth edit, or A Design of Gold final, final draft. I'm pleased to offer each novel to the public as if the polished version is what I came up with in the first place. It's a big illusion which I think crops up in most areas of life, time and again.

We've probably all been warned about the discouragement we may face when we believe the polished, picture-perfect lives our friends present on social media trump our own messy reality with its irritations and disappointments. But then we do the same impression management, knowing there are some things we would never share. (Well, sometimes people share theirs anyway, and then we cringe for them and maybe even pretend not to see those posts on our news feed.) But in general, we may try to edit our on-line persona as much as I edit my novels. Facebook  is probably a pretty apt name.

In general, we are brought up to believe that looking our best in front of other people is our social obligation. Sometimes people's masks are torn off, making us gasp at what was concealed. It turned out the young man who took the accountant's job at the Stirling Hospital after my husband quit spent his couple of years there embezzling money from the till, and almost got away with it. His story made it into the newspaper. And recently, Australian celebrity, Rolf Harris, had his title changed from 'children's entertainer' to 'paedophile.' Although most of us don't have such huge, devastating secrets, we'd probably all hate the prospect of having the content of our minds visible for others to see.

This all begs the question I come across from time to time. 'Who are you when nobody is looking?'

In his book, 'Soul Keeping', John Ortberg makes the point that many of us indulge in sneaky, dishonest behaviour when we believe we can get away with it. He cites a study which showed that a significant number of 'family deaths' tend to happen when students have major essays due. Requests for compassionate extensions tend to be made close to the deadlines, and often the deceased person turns out to be 'Grandma.' Ortberg gives senior readers the tongue-in-cheek warning that their longevity may not correlate with their cholesterol or fitness levels, but with whether or not they have grandchildren studying at University whose major assignments are due.

Do we really try to get away with shonky behaviour when we're sure we won't be found out? I'd just finished reading 'Soul Keeping' when my daughter mentioned something interesting. Emma works at the local fish and chip shop. She said that whenever she clears money from the automatic hot drink machine, she finds all sorts of foreign coins. It takes no great insight to figure out why customers decide to use these in the slot machines rather than paying over the counter with them. When I told Emma what I'd read, she said, 'It doesn't matter, because we keep the foreign coins in a little box for the staff to use when we want a hot drink.'

How about me personally? Well, something happened last week, which I'm tempted not to admit, but here goes. My youngest son and I were about to start a bushwalk, and I'd intended to park in a bus exchange car park, because it was right near the path we wanted to walk. We arrived to find one car park left, near a sign telling us, 'This car park is for travelers on public transport only.' All sorts of thoughts passed through my mind. Nobody else seemed to be there, wanting that park. It was already early afternoon, and most serious commuters probably used it in the morning. There were no other parks nearby and it wouldn't be convenient to have to add miles more onto the long walk we'd planned already. I knew we should have left, but I shrugged and joked to Blake, 'That covers us. We travel on public transport sometimes.' I know, I know, what a bad example for my young son.

So what do we take away from all this? I think it's always wise to remember that no matter how polished and good our friends and acquaintances may appear, not to automatically jump to the conclusion that this is their full story. It is their polished persona and they are not necessarily much different than we are. It may help to think, I've probably missed all the editing which has gone into this impression, but wow, they're doing it good. Yet at the same time, I took to heart John Ortberg's point that little dishonesties, indulged in over time, rub the shining edge off our souls and hurt ourselves. Fair enough. Just because we can get away with something without putting our public selves in a bad light, doesn't mean we should. No more using unentitled carparks for us.

That we are the essence of where we come from

I live in Australia, which as many know, tends to be an obscure country when it comes to the media. Lots of celebrities in the arts have moved overseas to try to 'make it' in places where they believe more is happening. When you look at Australia's situation at the bottom of the globe, it's easy to understand why this may be so. It takes a glance at the whole picture to show how far removed from the rest of the world we are. (Apart from our Oceanic neighbours, such as New Zealand and Papua New Guinea, who share our plight.) It's all very well to say we're surrounded by ocean on either side, but words alone don't paint an adequate picture of just how much Pacific Ocean there is to our east, and Indian Ocean to our west.

Okay, having established that, I remember an interesting message my pastor once gave, about how our position in the world is basically an arbitrary choice made by the world's map makers throughout history. Our planet is out in space, so it could have just as easily been flipped upside down in our Atlas, which would put Australia high in the north. It wasn't done that way though. We are far south in everyone's minds, which has connotations of being 'down there'. We have deserts, kangaroos and blokes slouching around in tank tops and thongs. That's us, in the world's eyes.

So having established that, my state, South Australia, is probably one of the most obscure states in an obscure country. This hit me hard once when I was part of a group of Aussie Christian authors who were talking live online to several American readers. We asked where they would like to go if they were able to visit Australia. The answers, although not surprising, were overwhelming.

'I'd like to see the beautiful eastern coast... Sydney and the Harbour Bridge... the Gold Coast with all the theme parks... it would have to be the Queensland tropics with the Great Barrier Reef... Ayers Rock. How beautiful... I've heard that Tasmania is lovely, with all its produce.' South Australia was mentioned just once, and that was by a lady who had relatives living in Adelaide, who had told her how beautiful it is.

Once I acknowledged that I'm living in the most overlooked state of the most overlooked country, other things began to slot into place. I remember asking my dad, 'Why didn't your father ever become more famous?' He had such a successful boxing career that he'd been asked to retire, to let younger men have a fair go. Yet if you search for my grandfather on the internet, hardly anything comes up. 'Why isn't Red Mitchell's name as widely recognised as Les Darcy's,' I asked.

I took Dad's answer on board without a thought at the time.

'He was only South Australian.' That said it all.

I finally got it when people started suggesting that I might want to change the settings in my books. 'They won't get anywhere if you keep using South Australia. You should make it Sydney. At least the rest of the world has heard of it.'

I don't know about that though. It might not be wise because I'm a South Aussie girl all through. The blood of several generations of others flows through my veins. Some were Germans who wanted to flee religious persecution in their own country, and others were Brits who wanted a brand new start away from the mid-nineteenth century poverty they'd struggled with. They all became South Australians. Although I'm not one of those people who couldn't possibly live anywhere else (such as Emily Bronte and her Yorkshire moors or Heidi with her Swiss Alps), I'm so familiar with my home that the South Aussie authenticity can't help slipping accidentally into my stories. It probably wouldn't work if I tried to adopt another setting.

I use words such as 'Fritz' and 'Fruchocs' assuming that everybody will know what I'm eating. I use long R sounds, pronouncing 'castle' as 'carsel' instead of 'cassel', and 'graph' as 'grarf' instead of 'graf.' I know all about Beehive Corner, the Silver Balls of the Rundle Mall, and the State Bank Christmas pageant without having to research these things. I've always thought of using my own environment for my novels as putting my stamping ground on people's radars. My South Aussie settings have been my trademark, not because I'm doggedly stubborn, but because I'm not sure I could easily change if I tried.

I'm not really sure I'd even want to sacrifice my setting, as it really is a beautiful corner of the world. South Australia has four very distinct seasons. If you were to see a photo of my Adelaide Hills, you'd be able to tell whether it was summer, winter, autumn or spring. When we speak about going to the beach, we're often talking about safe, warm gulf waters which have lost the Southern Ocean chill. It's been a pretty good home for me. At the moment, even though it is the most obscure place in the most obscure place, I tend to think I'll probably keep using it for the time being at least. I'll finish up with this photo, taken in Adelaide last week, of me with the statue of Catherine Helen Spence, a very illustrious South Australian lady who became an author, journalist, politician and well-known suffragist, all from the obscure spot of South Australia. She bloomed where she was planted, and so can we.

to cut ourselves far more slack

We all know this big man's lowest moment. It's recorded for us. Peter denied knowing Jesus or having anything to do with him, not once but three times. After being so certain in his own mind that he would never desert his master and best friend, it just happened impulsively as a self-protection instinct set in. It was never something Peter intended to do at all.

At least he went further than his fellow apostles, who didn't even join him around the fire at the high priest's court, but that was no comfort to Peter. He was a big, tough fisherman and his first accuser was a lowly servant girl, who merely said, 'This man was with him.' Two other people said the same thing, and each time Peter's knee-jerk reaction was the same. 'No, I wasn't. I've never seen him before. I don't know what you're talking about.'

It was straight after his third denial when the rooster crowed, just as Jesus said it would, and Jesus turned to look at Peter. The Bible often shows that things which may appear random and coincidental are, in fact, anticipated and woven into the fabric of a person's life. This was one of the most gut-wrenching moments for Peter, as he was brought, face-to-face with his own darker side, which he didn't even know existed. There was nothing he could do at that moment but hurry off, horrified and remorseful, to weep bitterly.

Later, we see the loving way in which the Resurrected Jesus addressed him on the beach. Jesus understands the true nature of a person's heart, and he gave Peter three chances to say, 'I love you, Lord,' to counterbalance those three, unfortunate, impulsive denials. You would think that might be it. Peter has learned his lesson. He becomes a head of the new church and is known by all as Peter the Rock, rather than Simon the Fisherman.

It isn't all. Years later, he's at the end of another rebuke, this time from the apostle Paul, who hadn't been around for near as long as Peter. In his letter to the Galatians, Paul explains that he opposed Peter to his face. It seems that Peter had been enjoying the company of several new Gentile believers, freely joining them to eat at the same table. When a delegation of Jewish believers was sent from James in Jerusalem, Peter withdrew from joining the Gentiles, evidently concerned about the impression he wanted to make on the Jews.

It would seem that Peter accepted this rebuke, although I'm sure he could tried justifying his actions by saying, 'It was just to begin with while I got them to understand,' or something like that. But this new knee-jerk reaction makes his real motivation evident again. It would seem that impression management and care about what people thought of him struck again. Although many of us would agree that we probably need to watch the basic weaknesses we're born with, it's astounding when you consider who this man was. Maybe I wouldn't have expected it from him, at this stage.

Peter was the guy who was always full of confidence. He had thousands of converts at his first sermon. He was rescued from prison by the spectacular arrival of an angel from heaven. He'd received some amazing revelations, including a radical one about acceptable food, which led him to understand God's true heart for the whole human race, including the Gentiles. He'd been God's instrument of several healing miracles, to the point that people put their ill friends in a position that Peter's shadow could touch them passing. No, I wouldn't have thought Peter would be the one to fall prone to such insecurity and shallow considerations any more. But we're told that he still did.

In the light of this, I'm wondering if we should cut ourselves, and our friends and relatives, far more slack than we do. We may be quick to say, 'How could my brother have done that same silly thing again?' or 'I thought I had more sense by now! I'm a moron.' But why should we expect more from ourselves than even Peter could deliver? Of course we're being made new every day, but it's a lifetime process and we are human. Instead of blaming ourselves when the same old thing crops up again, and taking it as proof that we were never any good to start with, it may be more helpful to remember that it also happened to somebody far more illustrious than us.

I'll aim to remember this in my parenting, my friendship, my writing, and also try to remember to extend the same grace to others. 

Even little gaps may be too big

I'll start with the story about my two sons which prompted this post.

Logan is 19 years old and Blake is 10. Whenever Logan comes home from Uni, Blake acts delighted to see him, but Logan's backpack is the real draw card. Blake knows he may often find packets of lollies or chocolate in there, as Logan likes to stock up at the supermarket before he catches his bus. Blake has learned from experience that Logan's backpack may be his main way of sneaking a treat.

This seemed to work okay in moderation, but Logan noticed that when he started to feel around for a snack in lectures, he sometimes didn't have anywhere near as much food as he thought he did. One day, he came home with a small lock on his bag and a broad grin on his face. He called, 'Hey, Blake, there are lollies in my bag. I dare you to try and get some now.'

That was a challenge not to be missed. After fiddling about, Blake realised that he could make a tiny opening between the zipper and lock about the size of a 20 cent piece. He has small hands and persistent fingers. He was able to bunch up the backpack fabric and wriggle out a Crown Mint, which he popped into his mouth.

Logan walked past and sniffed perpermint around his brother. He saw the smug smile. Now, Logan is generally too old to 'lose it' these days, but it was one of the occasions he felt pushed too far. He was stamping around, furious, and finally sat with his face in his hands.

'He's beaten me. I put a lock on the bag. What more can I do to keep him out? But he's won!'

A little while later, he produced a pencil case which he filled with lollies and locked up. This, he placed in the backpack, which he locked just as before. He said, 'Let's see him break through both locks, then,' but I noticed that he didn't issue the challenge again.

How much like life this is. We may often hear that we should watch out for little vices or holes, because they can turn huge before you know it, if you don't attend to them. I'd go as far as to say that you don't even need to bother about them getting bigger. A little hole, vice, lapse in judgment, mistake, or anything you can mention is already big enough for a lot to damage to be done, even if it never stretches another millimetre. The hero Archilles, from ancient mythology, found this out. He was covered from head to toe in inpenetrable armour but a tiny aperture in his heel was enough to bring him down.

However strong we think our defenses are, it's dangerous to overestimate them, or underestimate the little holes. The Bible tells us to guard our thoughts. I've found that the tiniest negative or rebellious thought may be my undoing on any given day. An instant of jealousy, resentment, self-pity or worry may be enough for all my sweets to be stolen. The joy, peace, calmness, self-control and love I've tried to build up is under threat. Keeping an eye on what we think, making sure it's only uplifting, profitable and kind, isn't just a nice suggestion, but all tied up with keeping our treasures locked. We are told that Satan went away, to leave Jesus until a 'more opportune time.' Even though he never found one, we shouldn't think his minions will leave us alone when we're far more vulnerable to little holes. I'm taking this episode with the boys as a reminder to be far more wary than I am.

what sort of secrets we should steer clear of

Photo from HealthyLife.com

Recently, we heard on the news that a young, former Subway employee threatened to leak all their secret recipes over the internet if they refused to pay him a given sum for keeping quiet. My first reaction was, 'What secret recipes could Subway possibly have? Everything is spread out plainly to see. They make sandwiches!' Then I remembered that my nephew, Travis, who once worked there, told us that there are indeed hidden details concerning their bread and cookie dough recipes. (He didn't tell us what they are, though.) It seems there's more to Subway than meets the eye.

How fascinated we all are with secrets. Once, when I was very young, I pretended to have one to tease and intrigue my big brother. He tried to wheedle, bully and trick it out of me, until I tired of the game and admitted that it was all a bluff. My game backfired on me when he refused to believe that, assuming I was backing out so I wouldn't have to tell him. Finally, I tried to make up something satisfactory enough to get him off my back, but couldn't come up with anything that would wow him enough.

What is the big attraction of knowing something that nobody else does? Primary school kids seem to latch onto the intrigue of secrets without ever being taught. 'This is top secret!' they whisper with big bug eyes. Some of us may remember having secret hiding places, or trying to write secret codes with our friends. It gives us a sense of inflated importance, especially if our acquaintances make it clear that they really, really, really wish they could find out.

We don't discard our fascination with secrets when we grow up. The news and internet are filled with tantalising snippets about things which have supposedly been covered up, until now. Rhonda Byrne's best seller was called "The Secret." But sometimes secrets can get nasty and sinister. Adult secret clubs, such as the Freemasons, claim to be full of secrets which they'll only reveal to insiders. Before I was born, my parents were involved with a certain church which filled their heads with all sorts of secrets they haven't divulged to this day. They came up far enough in the ranks to hear 'secrets' they were told not to ever tell anybody, lest bad things happen to them. Although they've long broken away, Mum admits that she's nervous 'just in case' and Dad scoffs, 'I've forgotten all that rubbish, except that it was silly.' But he's still never told us anything, and we're more than happy not to know.

True Christianity has secrets of its own, that's for sure, but when you think about it, they differ in a major way. This may seem a crude analogy, but I believe true Christian secrets are more like scavenger hunts and crossword puzzles. They are created especially to be figured out, and not to be hidden indefinitely for the so-called elite. I'm sure that God completely understands our natural fixation with secrets, and at the same time, he doesn't want to cheapen every good gift by simply handing it to us. Which pearl of great price would you value most? One which somebody throws to you as soon as you decide you'd like it, or one which is strategically hidden so that you have to search studiously, dig up garden beds, plead for clues, scratch your head?

This is why God sometimes presents his truths as secrets. When Jesus walked the earth, he never wanted to hide things for all time, but to reveal them. He spoke in parables to give people the opportunity of thinking and pondering until they got an intuitive sense of what he was trying to say. Even his birth was a secret from the regular or self-important folk, who would never have dreamed that their saviour would be found in a manger full of hay, surrounded by farm animals. But it wasn't hidden from true seekers with honest, searching hearts, like the Magi who came from the far east, bearing gifts.

In some of his letters, such as the one to the Colossians, the apostle Paul reveals one of the biggest secrets, or mysteries, his readers could fathom. 'This message is the secret that was hidden from everyone since the beginning of time,' he writes. 'But now it is made known to God's people. The secret is Christ himself, who is in you. He is our only hope for glory' (Colossian 1:26). What a great secret indeed, unfathomed by those who race around trying to find him in other places. And the margin notes in my Bible add that God provides salvation for anyone who will take it, and doesn't require that we know hidden secrets and accept certain inside information to accept Jesus' message.

So perhaps when it comes to secrets, alarm bells should start ringing when the secrets are covered up with a 'this is not for the likes of you' type of attitude. Another type of secret to steer clear is, 'I'll tell you this privileged information, but whatever you do, don't let the riff raff out there know, because they aren't enlightened enough to ever understand, and something bad will happen to you.' One of the most dangerous bogus secret of all, which has been the downfall of many deluded seekers, is, 'The world is going to end on such and such a date, so let's take action by doing so and so.'

Let's keep enjoying the simple, wholesome type of secrets which are meant to be eventually discovered, and turn away from the other sort which are designed to remain murky, concealed and never known by some. I think, if Eve had kept the distinction in mind way back in Genesis, she wouldn't have been so easily duped by the serpent who suggested that God was dealing sneakily with her, holding back knowledge which may benefit her. She would have been more inclined to say, 'I know that's not the way He operates, but it's your way, so push off!'   

that this young guy had issues

I'm referring to one of King David's sons, Absalom, who is probably best remembered as the guy who almost succeeded in stealing his father's kingdom.

I find it interesting to trace his story, trying to determine why he would ever make such a defiant move. It isn't hard to figure out. The Bible reveals Absalom as the type who would quietly dwell on wrongs committed against him or those he loved, and let them fester. All the time, nobody could guess what was in his head until he struck. He behaved in that manner when his half brother, Amnon, raped their sister, Tamar. She was Amnon's half sister and Absalom's full sister, all children of David. Absalom quietly cared for Tamar in his own home and waited for an opportune moment to strike back at Amnon, which took a couple of years.

He behaved the same way with his father, when David allowed him back into the city after his time of exile. For a period of time David, although pining for his son, refused to see him. Eventually they seemed to make up. Absalom appeared to be on friendly terms with David, but he was biding his time, ingratiating himself with the people, building a following for himself, behaving like a politician. Then it was evident that striking for the kingdom and seeing his father dead had been his intention for a very long time. He just had to win people's hearts first. Bitterness and patience are a formidable combination.

The thing is, I get where he was coming from. Absalom is easy to understand. He had good reason to feel bitter about the chain of events which had occurred in his life. Amnon should never have laid a hand on Tamar. Their father, the king, shouldn't have turned a blind eye and let Amnon off, scott free. Nor should he have brought him, Absalom, back from exile, if he didn't intend to talk to him. And Joab the army commander, who had fetched him home in the first place, should have explained the way things would be, or at least come when he summoned him. No wonder Absalom took it upon himself to burn Joab's fields to get some attention. But I guess his story shows that even when we feel justified, nothing good can come of letting resentment and bitterness be the rulers in our hearts. We do have a choice. His choice was to let these toxic emotions sweep him away.

What a tragedy, when somebody with as much going for him as Absalom has his own life cut short as a result of his heart's thoughts and attitudes. Ladies, he must have been hot. The Bible doesn't dwell on a man's appearance, so when it does get a mention, it must have been remarkable. King Saul was called a fine young man who stood head and shoulders above other men, and David was described as ruddy and handsome in his youth. But neither of them had anything on Absalom, who must have been simply gorgeous. We are told, 'Absalom was greatly praised for his handsome appearance. No man in Israel was as handsome as he. No blemish was on him from his head to his foot. At the end of every year, Absalom would cut his hair, because it became too heavy. When he weighed it, it would weigh about five pounds by the royal measure' (2 Samuel 25-26).

Interestingly, the same week we were reading about Absalom in our Bible study, we were also assigned to read a convicting passage in 2Corinthians about guarding our thoughts. Especially Chapter 10: 1-5 which instructs us to capture every thought that doesn't line up with what we know God would have us think. With Absalom's situation still fresh in my mind, it was clear that his downfall was because he didn't do this. His attitude was the polar opposite to the one Jesus prescribed, when he said to forgive our enemies and pray for them.

Absalom got scarily close to causing the demise of his father and taking the kingdom, but some bad tactical advice proved to be his undoing, and ironically, all that gorgeous hair he was so proud of. It got tangled in the branches of an overhanging tree, pulling him right off his horse and leaving him hanging. Even though David pleaded, 'Please deal easy with the young man, Absalom,' his army commander, Joab, wasn't one for sentiment, and finished him off swiftly with a spear thrust to the heart.

What a tragic waste. It saddens me to read about the death of somebody who'd been blessed with enough natural gifts to be a potential hero. But two wrongs, or in his case, possibly more than a dozen wrongs, never make a right. It also shows that real life isn't really like Hollywood. Modern movie makers might have chosen a different story ending for a person like Absalom. Good looking hero is incensed when an innocent member of his family is viciously attacked, especially when those who should avenge her decide to do nothing. So he takes matters in his own hands, making it his goal to exact justice, however long it takes. Then he decides to win the people's hands and make himself rightful leader. That's not how he's remembered at all.

His story challenges me to let the past go, to let God be the judge. Let's not follow in his footsteps and let preoccupation with other people's faults suffocate our good thoughts and prevent us from leaving a good legacy.

Here's another post about someone who, when you think about it, would have been one of Absalom's many step mothers (as David had several wives) She was a tragic princess